


let the roots run deep

by theragingstorm



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Aunt-Niece Relationship, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, Light Angst, Mentions of childbirth, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Post-Frozen 2 (2019), Sister-Sister Relationship, elsa can be read as wlw or aspec or both here, that's up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25246129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theragingstorm/pseuds/theragingstorm
Summary: Elsa grows to understand the changing face of her family, and gets to know the newest member of it.
Relationships: Anna & Elsa (Disney), Anna/Kristoff (Disney), Elsa & Honeymaren (Disney), Elsa & Kristoff (Disney), Elsa & Ryder Nattura
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	let the roots run deep

**Author's Note:**

> There is not nearly enough Aunt Elsa content out there, but I am very happy to provide it myself. This can be read as a sequel to my other work here, but you don't have to read it to understand this: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247799/chapters/55823482
> 
> Title from Crowded Table by The Highwomen.

The winds were beginning to blow cold once more over the waters of the northern sea. The leaves had already turned, and the autumn had turned from golden and soft to crisp, the peoples of Arendelle and the Enchanted Forest beginning to stockpile wood and food for the winter. Arendelle was prospering under its beloved queen, wealthy and content. It had been almost precisely two years since the Forest had been liberated and so much had changed, after which its inhabitants had settled into a different, happier rhythm, exalting in their newfound freedom and cautiously but optimistically living in peace alongside their neighbors to the south. 

Unusually, Elsa did not share their happiness that morning. She roused herself early, as she always did, stepping through the entrance of her goahti and watching the dawn sky turning pink over the treeline. She picked her way through the campsite, careful not to wake anyone, heading to the edge of the nearby stream. 

The water was, by now, too cold for anyone else to directly bathe in it, but Elsa did, dissolving her ice-dress and sliding into the clear, frigid rush of water, scrubbing herself with handmade tallow soap, lost in thought. 

There rose a soft trill from the bank, and she turned to face Bruni. He was perched on a smooth stone, looking directly up at her, his feet making the water on the stone turn to little puffs of steam. He blinked, licked his eyeball, then offered her a rather insistent chirp. 

“Don’t give me that.” She worked the lather through her white-blonde hair, watching it float upon the surface of the stream, spreading over the water like frost. “Anna’s busy. And now that they’ve both recovered, she’ll _want_ to spend all her time with Kirsten.”

He chirped again, curling up on the stone. At the same time, the wind whistled past, stirring the surface of the water further. 

“I stand by it, Gale.”

Elsa climbed out of the water, making a new dress -- and a towel for her hair -- out of the droplets. When she finished drying off and getting dressed, she put on a little of her favorite perfume from home, Bruni jumped up onto her hand, and she placed him gently on her shoulder. 

“Now let’s go get some breakfast.”

The campsite was waking up just as they headed back. Laughter and chatter and the complaints of children roused too early rang out as the women of the camp put kettles of water over their fires, filling their guksi cups with small bundles of leaves or powder for their own and their husbands’ morning tea. Gáhkko bread was spread with cloudberry jam, and mallemárffe sausage was heated on spits or in pans over the fire, filling the air with the smell of roasting meat and woodsmoke. 

As she moved through the campsite, while the children rubbed their eyes and gazed up at her sleepily, the adults started greeting Elsa with bright “good mornings” and many offers for her to sit with them and have some breakfast. That kind of close attention in Arendelle had always made her feel slightly off, part of being under the constant spotlight that came of being their queen, but among the Northuldra, she never minded. 

She meandered between campfires, between individuals and families, murmuring her own greetings -- on a better morning she would’ve talked longer with each of them -- and eventually settled at her most oft-used seat, next to the campfire of the Nattura siblings. Neither of them were good cooks in any way shape or form, but just seeing them immediately made her heart a little lighter. 

“Hi Elsa!” Ryder was severely burning his and his sister’s mallemárffe, but neither of them seemed to notice, brightening as she sat down next to them. Elsa poured the ground coffee she always brought home from Arendelle into a thin cloth, tying it, putting it and pouring a stream of the hot water into the guksi Honeymaren offered her. Bruni clambered down from her shoulder and into the middle of the fire, curling up between the logs and chirping contentedly. 

“Hi guys,” she said warmly. A touch of wildflower honey and reindeer milk, and she sipped her drink, so unlike what she would’ve been offered in her castle or in the fancy coffeehouses throughout the European capitals. But she liked it, liked the smell of burning birchwood and the warmth of the fire, liked the sound of her friends’ voices. “You got quite an early start.” 

“We had to. Busy day ahead of us.”

“Ah,” she said delicately. “Me too. I need to talk to Yelana, then write to the embassy in Arendelle, schedule another diplomatic event. Plus Nøkk and I are taking a sweep around the western edge of the Forest; going to check for poachers again. What’s on you two’s agenda for today?”

“Oh, well, Maren and I are taking the reindeer herd outside the forest to the southern fields, try and get the last of the foliage before winter sets in. And try, however hard it is, to keep the bulls from all killing each other.”

“Mating season,” Honeymaren agreed, sighing. “Everybody wants to be a part of it, at everybody else’s expense.”

“Love brings out the worst in all of us,” Elsa joked lightly, chuckling. 

“I wouldn’t call it _love_ , but whatever it is that comes out during the rut, it certainly brings out the worst in our bulls, that’s for damn sure.”

Her brother and Elsa laughed aloud. The three of them finished their drinks and their charred breakfast, the siblings picking up their staffs, tying dried meat and bread to their belts to have at lunchtime, knives strapped and ready to deter any predators that might try to take advantage of mating season’s chaos. They were so in sync, so comfortable with each other, that despite herself, Elsa felt a pang of longing for her own sibling’s company. 

“Oh, that reminds me.” Honeymaren retrieved a folded piece of paper, the ink traced over it in a familiar scribbly hand. “Gale delivered us a letter this morning; we think you might want to see it too.”

“You?” Elsa was surprised.

“Yeah, that’s what we said,” Ryder agreed. “Well, we didn’t say ‘you,’ we said ‘us,’ because you’re you and we’re us but to you, you know, I really mean --”

Honeymaren ignored her brother’s ramblings and just handed over the letter. Elsa’s heart jumped into her throat as she read. 

_You two might be surprised to hear from me right now,_ it read, _but of everyone in the Forest, you’re closest to Elsa, and right now, I don’t know how else to reach her. Sure, I could write her directly, but when I wrote her last, just after she went back last week, her reply was so impersonal it was like hearing from a stranger. And she hasn’t written to me since. She was hovering over me for almost three weeks while Kirsten and I recovered from the birth, so having her pull away from me once I healed up was pretty shocking, you know?_

_She doesn’t have to give me space just because she used to hover. God knows I like hovering, better too close than not close at all, in my opinion. And I know that she has work to do, I’m not trying to stop her from that. I just want to know that she’s okay._

_Besides, she’s barely seen Kirsten at all this last month, even while she was here in the castle. The two of them need to get to know each other! Taking care of her is so hard, especially while I wasn’t doing so well, but my God, it’s worth it, just to be with her. Elsa needs to see that._

_Plus, Kristoff’s all worn out too, and he, Sven, and Olaf miss her almost as much as I do. No one else will talk about ice with him_ but _his sister. He’s looking over my shoulder while I write this and he says to say that he knows you guys love her too, but we really do want her to come back, so we can see she’s okay. So she can see Kirsten. If not now, then soon. At_ least _ask her to write me back._

_Hope you two are doing well! Olaf asks that you say hi to the spirits for him. Kristoff and Sven ask that you say hi to the reindeer herds, and wish you luck in dealing with the rut. I’ll add a little luck of my own as I bid you goodbye. Making and having babies is a more stressful event than you might think; trust me, I know._

_Lots of love,_

_Anna_

Elsa’s hands shook slightly as she handed the paper back to Honeymaren. Her friend gave her an askance look, sighing and putting her own hands on her hips. 

“Thoughts?” Ryder asked blithely. 

“You two are going to try and make me go back to Arendelle, aren’t you.”

“Well, we can’t exactly _make_ you, but --”

“You should,” Honeymaren interrupted. “Your sister clearly still needs you.”

“Anna doesn’t need me right now,” Elsa returned. “She needs to be with Kirsten. When she was struggling, she pulled through on her own. Not for me, for Kirsten. When she pulled out of it, when her fever broke, the first thing she did each time was ask for Kirsten. Not me. And once she recovered, I understood; they need _each other_ , more than anything. More than me. I’m just surplus to them right now.”

“That’s reindeershit,” Honeymaren scoffed at once. “Did you two stop needing each other when other people came into your lives? No. Why should Kirsten’s coming into your lives be any different?”

“Kirsten’s her _daughter,_ Maren,” Elsa snapped. “Her _daughter._ Whom Anna tried to have for months, carried for most of a year, suffered for over a day to give life to, and literally pulled herself out of a birthing fever for. Trust me. Anna needs to be with _her_.”

Honeymaren angrily opened her mouth again, but it was Ryder, surprisingly, who beat her to it. 

“Well, I dunno, Elsa,” he said, tilting his head to the side, scratching his hair under his hat. “Do you think your mother stopped missing _her_ family here in the Forest when she had _you?_ ”

It was a simple question. A simple question that all at once made all the words dry up on Elsa’s lips. 

The two siblings looked at her for a long time as she stood there with her mouth open, unable to speak. 

“I can’t intrude on Anna’s life,” she eventually managed to mumble. “I don’t want to get in between her and her daughter. I’ve never seen my sister like this, not with anyone...that little girl is everything to her. Who am I to get in the way of that?”

Honeymaren sighed softly, her expression softening. 

“Well, we can’t speak for your sister about that,” she said, “since neither of us have children --”

“Unless you count the reindeer,” her brother interjected.

“Reindeer are not children, Ryder.”

“Says you.”

She ignored him and continued.

“But we do know how much she loves you. I really doubt she’s going to think of it as intrusion.”

Elsa hesitated for a few seconds more, rubbing her hands uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot. 

“I...I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” Honeymaren offered her a friendly, light punch to the shoulder. Her dark eyes had softened with relief. “Give them all our love, alright?”

Ryder brightened, nodding eagerly in agreement. 

The wind whistled softly around them; a whisper of confirmation.

* * *

The sun was setting by the time she rode into Arendelle. The sky, the shimmering reflective surface of the fjord, and the autumn trees that lined every street were all a blaze of red and gold, as though the kingdom were burning. The Nøkk snorted and paced the surface of the waves when they reached the harbor, the great ships swaying and creaking with the rhythm of the tide. A sharp October chill had crept into the air, but even in her thin dress, Elsa was, as always, unbothered. 

She slid off the Nøkk’s back onto the edge of the dock, stroking her hand down his neck in thanks. He nickered gently, dipping his head, before leaping up off the rippling surface and plunging back into the water, dissolving into foam. 

So Elsa began the trek up to the castle. Bathed in a russet glow, the kingdom were all heading back inside their homes as wives and mothers finished preparing dinner, husbands trudging up from their work or the taverns, and children picking up their toys from the street and chatting happily amongst themselves, kicking up swirls of dry leaves. At the docks, the brothels were closing their shutters to deter voyeurs, sailors tethering their ships for the evening. Further inland, the bell at the chapel was tolling six, and Elsa, to her relief, remained totally unnoticed as she ghosted through the cobbled streets.

When she reached the open castle gates, the two guards at them, who’d previously looked like they were bored enough to fall asleep, immediately, frantically burst into life upon seeing her. One of them almost dropped his bayonet in excitement, the other one of them promptly bowed almost low enough to kiss his knees. 

Elsa suppressed both a laugh and a sigh. 

“At ease, gentlemen,” she said, not unkindly. They both straightened. “Do you know if Queen Anna and the rest are in for the evening?”

“Yes, my lady,” one of the guards said at once. “She was helping with preparations for the harvest festival most of the day --”

“Had the little princess in her arms the whole time,” his companion chuckled. “Didn’t put her down for a second except to sign papers.”

“-- but she and Prince Kristoff turned back in an hour ago. They should have just finished dinner.”

“That’s quite early for them,” Elsa frowned. 

“Ah, yes. I heard something about how the little princess demands to be fed right about now, and Her Majesty does like to give her daughter her undivided attention, doesn’t she?”

“Sounds like my mother-in-law,” said the second guard. “Except she _still_ does it, thirty years after her daughter was last an infant.”

Elsa bit back a laugh. 

“Thank you, Jesper, thank you, Konrad.”

“Anytime, my lady.”

It was only after she passed through the gates and the courtyard, the door to the castle foyer closing behind her with an almighty _boom_ , that Elsa’s breathing grew shaky, that her heart began to speed up. Her hands shook slightly; she rubbed them together, her feet leaving the barest trace of frost on the wood-paneled floor, on the lavish carpet. She glided up the stairs, cape trailing behind her, her slow, steady movement an attempt to disguise her unsteady hands, her quavering breaths. 

The castle was unusually still. Under Anna’s reign, full of well-paid staff, oft-frequented by dignitaries and courtiers, open at any hour to any ordinary folk who wished to speak with their queen, it usually bustled with activity. But now, all she heard were her own footsteps as she made her way up, intending to knock on the door to the queen's quarters. 

But as she did, she passed by the door to the sixth-floor library, which had been cracked slightly open. From it, she finally heard voices; she stopped to listen. 

“Elsa’s late,” she heard Olaf announce brightly. There were some slight creaks, indicating that someone was walking across the wooden floor. A slight grunt; from Sven, she reasoned. “D’you think she forgot what day it is? I mean, it doesn’t seem very likely that there are any calendars in the Forest. Or _are_ there --”

“Elsa might’ve just missed the note about the time change.” Kristoff. His rumbling voice seemed unusually pitched, as though he were trying to be soothing. “We never _usually_ have game night this early.”

Sven groaned softly in agreement.

“How can we have boys vs. girls without Elsa?” Olaf asked. “Unless we have the baby play. Ooh, ooh, Anna, can we have the baby play? She _is_ very wise and intelligent, I think she’d be a canny chess player.”

Kristoff audibly stifled a laugh. It was only then that Elsa heard the slight noises underneath the chatter, the soft gurgles and coos of someone too young to talk, or even to babble. Her heart skipped a beat again. 

“I’m not sure the baby _quite_ grasps the concept of chess yet, Olaf,” she heard Anna say delicately. 

“I’m not sure either, considering she has one of the bishops in her mouth,” Kristoff snorted. 

“Kirsten, stop that! No! Not for eating! Anyway, it’s okay, Olaf.” Elsa heard the slight waver in her sister’s voice. “I’m sure Elsa will be here soon enough.”

Elsa took a deep breath and chose then to push the door open.

The people before her all spun around to face the door -- then all froze in unison. Elsa took each in turn: Olaf, looking much the same as he always did, now beaming as he saw her, Sven, lying across the carpet, his muzzle flecked with gray, contentedly inclining his head towards her, Kristoff, still in his black slacks and blue shirt from the day, but having discarded his jacket, purple shadows under his eyes, his mouth now quirking upwards, and Anna. Anna in a lovely autumn-red dress, looking even more tired than her husband, locks of her hair falling out of its updo, staring at her sister. 

The baby in her arms, wearing her tiny lavender dress, fist in her mouth, peering up at her aunt quizzically. 

Elsa swallowed around the lump in her throat.

“I heard something about game night?” she croaked out. 

Olaf threw his stick-arms up -- literally -- and cheered. Sven brayed his approval. 

Anna remained completely still for a moment. Elsa swallowed hard, waiting. Expecting her sister to berate her. 

Then she got to her feet, sliding the baby into her husband’s arms. Running over to Elsa and flinging her arms around her. 

“You came,” she breathed. 

Elsa was shocked still for a moment, before her arms found their way around her sister’s shoulders in turn. 

“I...I’m sorry I haven’t been replying to your letters,” she mumbled.

“Hey, life gets in the way, I get that.” Anna withdrew, then gave her a stern look so reminiscent of their mother it gave her whiplash. “But don’t worry me like that again, okay?”

Elsa chuckled weakly, and Anna finally smiled. 

“C’mere. I need you on my team for chess.”

“Great, so Elsa _is_ here,” Kristoff groaned half-jokingly, dragging his unoccupied hand down his face; his wedding ring gleamed in the low light. “I _knew_ we shouldn’t have picked chess to play against her. We’re going to get our arses kicked.”

“Most likely,” Olaf agreed cheerfully. “Hey, did you know that the term ‘checkmate’ comes from the Persian term _‘_ _shāh māt,’_ which means ‘the king is helpless’ --”

Elsa settled in next to her sister, close enough that she could smell the orange-blossom soap Anna used for her hair. 

“Right, that’s what Father always told us it meant,” Anna said brightly, “whenever we played against him. He was far from helpless though, he was _so_ good, and yet it took me years to figure out he was _letting_ me win.”

“In fairness, Anna,” Elsa reminded her warmly, “you were eight, and he’d been playing for decades.”

“Right, and I thought I was the new chess prodigy of Europe or something.” Anna shook her head with mock exasperation. “My chess playing is just _passable_ at best. Like my parenting.”

“That’s not true,” Elsa and Kristoff said in unison. They glanced at each other, before Elsa’s eyes slipped downward, to the baby in his arms.

In pale purple, a contrast to her mother’s red and her father’s blue, Kirsten still gazed out at the world, and at her aunt, curiously. She was big for her age, which she had clearly gotten from her father, with, now that she had fully recovered, rosy, healthy skin like her mother’s. She had thick, tufty blonde hair, the color of ripe wheat or honey, and her eyes had already turned from the bright blue of newborns to a soft, dark brown, darker than her father’s, clearly inherited from her Northuldra ancestors. The roundness of her face was reminiscent of Iduna, and the length and sharpness of her nose of Agnarr. Little hands extended outwards over Kristoff’s sturdy grasp, cooing softly, reaching for the sisters’ side of the chessboard. 

“You’re a wonderful mother,” Kristoff said roughly, his cheeks turning red. “Kirsten couldn’t ask for anyone better.”

Elsa thought of Anna crying and swearing as she labored to bring her daughter into the world, a month earlier than she should’ve had to, thought of her little sister lying in a pool of her own blood. Thought of the fever she’d contracted after the birth, thought of how she’d fought her way out of it even while she was still weak, how she hadn’t let her daughter leave her arms the whole time except to sleep and eat. Kirsten had been weak too, a month premature, and she’d struggled with taking milk, with sleeping, but Anna had refused to give up on her, to stop caring for her, even for a moment. They’d all expected the birth to be hard, they knew it had been hard for Iduna too; there’d been a reason, though their parents had always been deliberately vague about it, why they’d stopped at only two daughters. But Anna had fought tooth and nail, every minute of every day, for the sake of someone she loved. It was what she had always done. 

“I’d listen to him on this one,” she said softly. “You _are_ a wonderful mother.” Then, weakly attempting a joke: “And at least you’re a better chess player than _he_ is.”

The tension broke and Anna and Olaf laughed; Kristoff scowled playfully at her. 

“For that, we’re not ordering extra chocolates for your visits anymore,” he retorted, sliding his pawn forward. 

“I doubt that very highly,” she said, managing a small smile. 

For a moment, surrounded by their warm presences, their playful banter and chatter, all her anxiety fell away, and things slipped back into the way they had been. 

* * *

Perhaps to make up for the last month, game night lasted longer than usual. They played two rounds of chess (the women won both), a quick round of checkers (the women won that too), and a spirited round of whist (the men _almost_ won that, before Olaf bungled the last hand). While Anna was cheering their skill and good fortune, Elsa noticed, out of the corner of her eye, Kirsten nodding off in her father’s arms. Big as she was for her age, Kristoff’s arm dwarfed her, his muscles bunching slightly under his sleeve, but even while he grumbled against Olaf losing for them and the girls deliberately picking games they knew they were good at, he was nothing but gentle with his sleeping daughter. 

“We deserve to be compensated for this,” he grumbled good-naturedly as the women put the boards away, and as Olaf stacked and re-shuffled the cards. "You two always pick games you know you're going to win, I notice."

“Oh shut up,” Anna returned playfully. “ _Every_ time we play charades Olaf rearranges when neither of _us_ can, and you sure as hell don’t complain _then_.”

“You’re _both_ bad winners and sore losers,” Elsa cut them both off, her voice mild. “Can we all agree about that?”

“Yes!” Olaf chirped. 

Both husband and wife vehemently protested this, united at last, and Olaf gave Elsa a knowing look, holding his twig-hand up to his mouth. 

“Married couples,” he whispered to her way too loudly. “Am I right?”

They protested _that_ even more vehemently, and Elsa laughed. She then glanced up, catching sight of the clock.

“Oh, is _that_ the time?” she exclaimed. “Olaf, you should’ve been in bed hours ago.”

“What? Elsa, I’m not tired.” He immediately belied this by yawning enormously. “Hm. Not sleepy at all…”

Anna picked him up just as Kristoff got to his feet; she carried the little snowman just like he carried the baby. She leaned in to kiss her husband, then her daughter's little tufty head, and the group of them looked more like a family than ever. Sven moved over and nuzzled Kirsten’s head, lowing gently. 

The bottom of Elsa’s stomach suddenly seemed heavier; she swallowed hard around the re-formed lump in her throat. 

“We should _all_ try and get some sleep,” she suggested. 

“Good idea,” Anna yawned too. She walked back over to her sister, giving her a one-armed hug before rejoining her husband. “Night, Els. See you in the morning.”

“You too.”

She moved through the castle until she found her former bedroom. Plying her favorite deep magenta nightgown and a silver-backed hairbrush from her drawers, she brushed out her hair, far more than necessary, till it hung in satiny, white-gold strands down her back, until the repetitive motion allowed her to breathe easy again. She thought of how the new queen’s quarters were just down the hall, but now seemed a world away. 

For Anna now inhabited a part of existence that Elsa never would. The role of a wife, a mother, not just a queen. 

Elsa had never been captivated like her sister always had, even since early childhood, by glittering bridal dresses, by the romances of lush fairy tales or cheap paperback novels, by the idea of waking up each day to a sun-drenched bed tangled in white sheets, lying next to the man she loved, her true love, her prince, with their little ones in her arms. 

Anna now got to live the everyday struggles of marriage, the unbearable pains of childbirth, and now the confusing, flustering agony of parenthood. But she also got to live every bit of her old fantasies and more, far more, because they were _real_. 

Elsa did not regret the new life she had chosen, that she had made for herself. She was free, happier in it than she had ever been. 

But how could she ever understand this side to her sister? How could she connect to her niece, when Elsa was nothing _like_ Anna, fierce, warm, maternal, openly loving, wonderful Anna, in the ways that would matter to a child? When they so clearly needed _each other?_ How could that child ever need her?

* * *

Elsa slept fitfully, waking up periodically, pacing the room, picking up and setting down items at random. All seemed a blur, so that she couldn't tell the difference between being asleep and being awake. Dreams did not touch her, so being asleep, at times, seemed more real than being awake did. 

It was in the very early hours of the morning when she woke for the last time. Her window was open, and her curtains fluttered in the stream of cold autumn wind, ruffling her nightgown and her tousled hair. 

She climbed out of bed and studied her hair with dismay, reaching for her brush again. Another gust of wind blew through, sweeping back the edge of her sheets. A kind of insistence. 

It was only then that she heard the cry. 

She froze in place, hand halfway to her desk. At first she didn’t realize what it was, didn’t process it. 

Then its desperate, pure neediness pierced her to the bone and she ran, leaping from her bedroom, racing down the hallway as the cry continued. In the dark, her hand fumbled the unfamiliar handle and she gasped as she threw the door open. A small lantern rested on the floor, bathing the pine-wood crib, carved with patterns of twining vines and blooming flowers and little wild creatures flying or running, in a faint golden glow. 

Elsa lifted the lantern and peered within the crib. 

Kirsten lay on her back within, wearing her little nightdress, hands scrunched into fists and her expression scrunched up into a wail. Her face was scarlet with distress, and she kicked her small feet, crying, the sound going right to Elsa’s heart. 

“Shh,” Elsa whispered, “shh, Kirsten, shh, what do you want?”

She glanced over her shoulder, but nobody else was coming to answer the baby’s cries. Anna and Kristoff were so worn out, so exhausted, she realized, they must be dead asleep. The staff members must simply be too far away to hear. 

Elsa’s breath shook.

“Are you hungry? I -- I can’t do anything about that, I’m sorry. Do you need to be changed?” She leaned closer, right over the baby, but she seemed to still be clean. “Are you scared? Are you too cold? Too hot? Do you want one of your toys?” 

She pulled the crib’s quilt over the baby, then took it off, then searched every corner of the nursery for each of Kirsten’s many toys, the little wooden reindeer, the finely dressed dolls from France, the woven blue-and-red blanket the Northuldra women had made for her, but none alleviated her crying. 

“Do you want your father? Do you want your mother?” Elsa’s voice was starting to crack with desperation. “Listen, I understand. If I were you, I’d want them over me too. I’m sorry. I’m not your mother, I’m not --”

Kirsten’s cries crescended into a shriek. Elsa clapped her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut, tears burning under her lids. 

“I’m sorry!” It came out like a shriek of her own, then like a sob. “I’m sorry.” 

Cold plummeted through the air of the nursery. 

“I’m sorry, Kirsten, I’m sorry. I’ve been no help, no good, to your mother since you were born, because I just, I don’t know how. I don’t know how to do that for her. And I don’t know how to help _you_. I don’t. I just...I’m just…”

Still hyperventilating, unable to speak, she opened her eyes. 

Small flurries of snow were beginning to fall from the ceiling. Elsa gasped, blinking rapidly, tears escaping her eyes to freeze upon her skin. 

It was only then that she noticed that the baby’s cries had begun to peter out. 

Her hand trembling, she lifted the lantern, looking into the crib again. 

She gasped. 

As the snowflakes drifted down, Kirsten gazed at them, transfixed. She lifted her tiny hands, reaching, trying to grab at each little flurry, making soft noises in her throat as the snow melted upon her skin. 

“Oh...oh, Kirsten…”

A snowflake landed on the baby’s nose; she cooed, then giggled happily. 

A strange sensation began to occur in Elsa’s chest, like a frozen lake cracking open in spring. 

“Was...was it really _me_ you needed? All along?”

Kirsten cooed again. 

Elsa took a deep breath, then lifted her hand. She spun it in a small circle above the crib, and another little burst of snow sprinkled down. 

The baby gurgled, then squealed with delight, wiggling in place, her hands clapping together clumsily and reaching out to grab at the snowflakes, again and again. The joy in her face was undeniable, her dark eyes wide with awe and wonder at the magic. 

Elsa set the lantern down. Then she reached into the crib and picked up her niece, thinking of how she’d seen Anna and Kristoff do it, careful, so careful, to cup her head, cradling her in her arms. Kirsten sighed softly, content, nestling into her aunt’s cool embrace. 

Tears welled up in Elsa’s eyes again, trickling freely down her cheeks. Her throat hitched, and her breath came unsteady. 

She touched a finger to the baby’s nose, leaving a single snowflake balanced on the tip. Kirsten crooned, then sneezed, making Elsa laugh even through her sobs, and she pulled the baby in close. Both tiny hands reached out to touch her face, and she pressed a little kiss to her niece’s forehead. 

Without warning, heat built in Elsa’s chest, warm to the point of burning, pouring in like lava till it felt like her ribcage would burst open from the force of it, from the force of the love that now threatened to overpower her. She had only ever felt like that _once_ before; it was an old memory, perhaps her oldest, but she still called it forth to mind. Funnily enough...it had been for a newborn baby then, too. 

The door burst open behind her and she jumped. Kirsten just yawned. 

“My lady,” gasped the maid, her chest heaving, her cheeks pink like she’d just been running, “I heard the princess crying, oh, I came to see her, is she alright, should I wake Her Majesty and His Highness --”

“She’s alright, Hilde,” Elsa soothed, and the girl gasped with relief, slumping against the doorframe. “She’s quite alright. You can go back to bed now.”

Hilde nodded, sighing softly. Then she curtseyed and ducked away, gently shutting the nursery door behind her. 

Elsa rocked Kirsten in her arms, softly humming a Northuldra lullaby, whispering a few of the lyrics, as the baby’s yawns increased, as she grew stiller and more peaceful in her arms. Just as she was about to drift off, Elsa let fall a few more snowflakes. Kirsten crooned sleepily, one more time, before finally falling back asleep, content at last. 

Very gently, still cautious, Elsa laid her back down in her crib, pulling her quilt back up over her. She stayed for a minute longer, caressing her finger down her niece’s cheek, listening to her quiet, sleepy snuffles, before bending down to kiss her once more.

It was only then that she returned to her own room. This time, when she closed her eyes, she drifted off at once, and spent the rest of the night in a peaceful, easy sleep. 

* * *

The next morning, the sky was brilliantly blue, as crisp as the cold fall air, and the golden-red trees swayed gently in the breeze. Elsa drew a warm, scented bath, fumbling through the rows of expensive lotions and unguents, before she finally settled on a simple bar of tallow soap to clean herself -- though she did pick up an extra bottle of her favorite perfume. She put on her most-loved sky-blue dress, brushed out her hair, and went down to breakfast, her footsteps light and unburdened. 

At the long dining table, plates of toast and eggs and smoked salmon, a silver samovar full of strong black coffee and delicate willow-patterned china cups, all the accoutrements of their castle's traditional breakfast, had been set out. Sven had returned to the stables the previous night and Olaf, who didn’t need to eat, had already stepped out, likely to cause some mischief or other. But Anna and Kristoff were still eating, plates laden high, chatting brightly together over their coffee cups, love in their eyes as they looked at one another. And in a sling around Anna’s chest was Kirsten, happily snuggled up against her mother. 

Looking at them, Elsa’s heart warmed. 

“Els!” Upon seeing her, Anna waved enthusiastically, her expression brightening. Elsa smiled and glided over, taking the other seat next to her sister. She stirred milk and honey into her coffee, her smile growing, slightly fond, slightly exasperated, as Kristoff drank it black, bitter enough to set one’s teeth on edge, and Anna put in _far_ too much sugar. “You look like you slept well.”

“Oh, I did.” 

For a little while, they simply sat together, still chatting, enjoying the pleasure of each others’ company. It wasn’t until they had nearly finished breakfast that Anna said:

“You know, Els, it’s really nice having you just down the hallway from us and Kirsti.” She pinched her daughter’s cheek, making the baby giggle. Elsa smiled again. “I know you’re happy in the Forest, but you know we _do_ miss you. And it’s nice for Kirsti to be near her aunt. She’s gonna love you so much; you’re gonna be everything to her.”

“Oh.” Elsa blushed. “I don’t know about that. I mean, she has you two.”

“Yeah, but we gotta be enforcers,” Kristoff pointed out. “‘No Kirsten, don’t eat that, no Kirsten, don’t stick your hand in that.’ It never ends. And when she grows up, it’ll be, ‘No Kirsten, don’t ride your velocipede indoors, no Kirsten, you can’t bring in a dirty box full of stray puppies, no Kirsten, you can’t court him, you can’t marry him, he’s bad news --’”

“Thanks,” Anna grumbled.

“And she’ll love us, but sometimes she’ll also hate us for that. Gods know no matter how much we loved them and they loved us, we all got angry at our parents sometimes, growing up.”

Both sisters nodded.

“For different reasons, though,” Elsa said softly.

“But the thing is,” he finished, “no matter how angry she’ll get at us, at anyone else in the world, she will _always_ have you.”

“She and her future siblings,” Anna agreed.

“Anna, you _just_ had this one a _month_ ago.”

“You’re dodging the point,” Anna said briskly. “Elsa, you are her kindhearted, gentle aunt with tremendous power who runs around with magical spirits and wears sparkly ice dresses and lives in the woods. You’re going to spoil her rotten, give her presents, sneak her chocolate, take her on too-fast rides -- don’t try to deny it -- let her cry on you, comfort her, support her, trust her, like you do for me. She is going to _love_ you, because well, why wouldn’t she?”

For a moment, Elsa was too overwhelmed to speak. 

“You give me too much credit,” she eventually mumbled. 

Anna and Kristoff shared a look, like _what are we going to do with this one?_

“You know,” Anna said, stirring her spoon in the dregs of her too-sweet coffee, “usually, when Kirsten cries in the middle of the night, usually we hear her and wake up, or if we don’t, then one of the staff hears her and wakes us up. And y’know, she’s just newborn, so she does it pretty often. But we didn’t wake up at _all_ last night.”

“Yeah, and we doubt it’s because she’s already sleeping through the night,” Kristoff said wryly. “She’s smart, she’s Anna’s daughter after all, but she’s still not going to do _that_ just yet.”

Elsa was silent. Anna sighed gently, resting one hand over her sister’s. 

“Hilde told us that you were the one who calmed her down, and you know, pretty quickly too. Elsa, she barely calms down for _anyone_ other than us, and _never_ quickly. Don’t you remember? When I was recovering, when you were still here helping take care of me. It was your singing to me that helped her sleep. When you made the room cooler to help with my fever, she fussed less. After you went back, whenever I missed you most, she cried more too.”

Elsa felt tears brim up in her eyes, looking at her sister, looking at the inquisitive dark gaze of her niece. 

Kristoff sighed too.

“How about we agree?” he said. “Both of you, with your individual, separate lives and all, are _always_ going to need each other. I remember when the two of you used to have sleepovers in Anna's bed. Sometimes with me in it.”

Both sisters choked out laughs through their brimming tears.

“And that fantastic little girl right there is going to need and love _both_ of you. Alright? Got it? Good.”

Still crying softly, Elsa reached over to squeeze his big, rough hand too. It dwarfed her own, which he took in return, with the utmost gentleness. Anna reached up to press a kiss to his lips, and when she did, even after almost five and a half years of being together, he still blushed. 

The two of them then each caressed a finger down their daughter’s cheek, before Anna gently transferred her from her sling to Elsa’s arms. Elsa gasped slightly, biting her lip, before she hastily adjusted her arms to hold the baby. Kirsten waved her hands up towards Elsa’s face, babbling happily. 

“See?” Anna said, her voice breaking. She sniffled loudly, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, smiling through her tears. “I told you. She loves her aunt.”

“So she does,” Elsa murmured.

They managed to finish breakfast by the time Kai stepped into the dining room, a quintet of Anna’s council members standing behind him. The lone woman in the group looked at the two sisters and Kirsten and offered them a private smile, before modestly shielding her face behind her fan.

“Your Majesty,” Kai said formally, “the meeting regarding the demands of the lumber workers’ trade union requires your presence.”

“Oh shit, right.” Anna got to her feet, dusting off the front of her dress. “Earl Tonsberg, Lord Løvenskiold, Count Struensee, Marquis Anker, Lady Nordsjøen, um, tell the others I will be there presently, thank you.”

Earl Tonsberg and Marquis Anker looked irritated, but Lord Løvenskiold and Count Struensee inclined their heads respectfully before heading back out. Lady Nordsjøen offered her queen another understanding smile before snapping her fan back into place and gliding after them. 

Anna extended her hands to her sister.

“I can take her back, now. She’s going to need to be watched constantly, and Kristoff has work too, and I hate leaving her with a nanny all day --”

“Actually, I can be with her,” Elsa cut her off, surprising herself. Her heart beat a little faster, but the more she spoke, the surer she was. “I’ll come find you if she needs to be fed, and I’ll -- I’ll ask the staff if I’m unsure of anything.”

Anna looked astonished. 

“You were right,” Elsa finished. She fashioned her own sling out of ice, forming a fabric similar to the one she made dresses out of, and gently laid Kirsten within. “The two of us need to get to know each other.”

For a moment, Anna remained still. 

Then she flung her arms around her sister’s shoulders. Elsa didn’t hesitate one moment to embrace her in return, all her tension and nervousness melting away in the warmth of her sister’s arms. When they pulled away, she got to her feet; Kristoff smiled at her and patted her shoulder, and in return, she got on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. 

When she stepped outside onto the bright autumn sunlight, the kingdom was beginning to wake up around her. Chatter and bustle and the clatter of horse hooves echoing against cobblestones, all the world a burst of color. The fjord shimmered in the white autumn sunshine, the light shining through the trees, making each golden leaf glow like drops of amber. 

Elsa took a deep breath, inhaling the cold air. The baby curled against her lifted one tiny, pudgy hand, waving it out towards the kingdom. 

“Are you ready to get to know each other, Kirsten?”

Her niece beamed up at her. 

* * *

Only two weeks later, the first frosts had crept into the land, painting the grasses and the lichens and the last of the leaves with the faintest sheens of silver and white. The sun was setting early and fast, painting the sky with red again, making the frosted ground look whiter, like lace in a lady’s dress. 

It was even colder to the north, in the Forest. Some predicted that the season’s first snowfall was mere days away; Elsa knew they were right, for she could taste the coming weather in the growing chill, in the scent of the wind, and her heart was glad. 

She was seated under a birch tree, resting after having gathered campfire wood; after she had done so, Bruni had helpfully leapt straight into the little cluster of logs, igniting them at once. Now a stew simmered on the fire, releasing the scent of cooking meat and dried herbs into the cold air, and a small crowd had already gathered around it, sipping aquavit from the bottle, their breath coming out in clouds. 

Elsa curled up under her tree, lifting one hand to let fall a little shower of snowflakes. Snuggled into her aunt’s embrace, wrapped up warmly in furs and her red-and-blue Northuldra blanket, Kirsten squealed with delight, reaching up to grab at each one, her dark eyes full of joy. 

There was a soft neigh, and the Nøkk emerged from the nearby stream and came trotting over, bending his head to nose gently at the baby’s hair, getting her hair slightly wet, but making her coo. Bruni, still curled up in the fire, chirped happily. 

“Elsa!”

From where she was sitting next to the fire, Anna waved. Her husband flanked her left side, with Olaf sitting next to him, warming his twig-hands near the flames, and Sven lying behind them, lowing contentedly. Honeymaren flanked her other side, albeit with a couple feet of space between her and Anna, with Ryder next to her. Elsa knew that General Mattias had seen her sister and brother-in-law off for the journey, and that Yelana and her own fire sat nearby, never too far. 

“Elsa, c’mere! There’s plenty of space for you too.”

The corner of Elsa’s mouth quirked up, and she got to her feet, still holding her niece. She took her place before the fire, surrounded by the others, right next to her sister. 

“Barely,” she teased warmly, not meaning a word of it. “I hope the kingdom can survive without you two for the next couple days. Or will it fall at the hands of your councilmen?”

“Possibly,” Kristoff replied. “We should’ve left Sven and Olaf in charge.”

Sven grunted loudly. Olaf turned to him and said: 

“That’s right, Sven! We _are_ naturally suited to leadership! Which reminds me, I think my arm fell into the fire.”

Elsa had to quickly snatch it out and blast snow onto it while the Nattura siblings did a bad job of suppressing their laughter.

“Kristoff, I still say you can never trust Sven too much,” Ryder chuckled, leaning into his own sister’s side. “Not even with the reign of a country.”

Honeymaren gave him a strange look. 

“I genuinely can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

It was Elsa’s and Anna’s turn to suppress their laughter, while Kristoff shrugged and nodded. Sven looked pleased. 

“In all seriousness,” Anna said at last, poking the fire with a long branch, “It’s always really nice to visit.” She looked around the campsite, her gaze softening. “Our _other_ home.”

Elsa smiled.

“And to be with each other,” she finished.

Anna took her sister’s hand and squeezed it. Her heart immediately warmed. 

“Always.”

The evening passed by quickly; everyone ate too much and drank too much, they talked for hours about every little thing, and while they were finishing the dessert pastries Anna had brought up from the kingdom, Kristoff pulled out his lute, and while he played, they all sang, with Ryder and Honeymaren vocalizing, Elsa and Anna providing the lyrics, and Olaf warbling loudly and off-key.

Blue-black night had fallen by the time Kirsten began to yawn. Elsa patted Anna on the shoulder and her sister nodded to her, smiling knowingly, before she got to her feet, walking some paces away from the campfire and its flickering yellow glow. Wrapped in the soft shadows of the night, she held Kirsten closer, letting the baby curl into her embrace. Then Elsa sang to her softly, Iduna’s lullaby coming easily to her lips, her chest warm as her niece dozed off in her arms, completely at peace. 

Elsa looked at her for a moment, before looking up, looking to her sister. Anna was laughing at something someone had said, and when she smiled, when her daughter smiled, their eyes crinkled in the same way. Anna had been fussy too, as a newborn. Anna too had been born early, impatient little thing, and had caused their mother difficulty in childbirth, but Anna too, had made all that difficulty fall away when her family saw her, for they had all loved her, had loved her as soon as she was placed into first her mother’s, then her father’s, and then Elsa’s arms. 

The warm, delicate weight in Elsa’s embrace was not one she had felt in many years, but now that she held her niece, it came back, easy as breathing. As did every bit of her love. 

Green and blue light flickered overhead, through the velvety night, between the white points of the constellations. Elsa’s gaze turned upwards, and, as her loved ones were bathed in the glow of the aurora, that selfsame peace settled onto her as well. 

“Look, Kirsten,” she murmured to the sleeping baby. “The sky’s awake.”

She held her niece close as her sister smiled, her eyes sparkling in the firelight. The stars and the aurora shimmered through the night, while around her, the wind murmured happily, and it sounded like the voice of someone beloved.

**Author's Note:**

> Kirsten got her name from three (real-life) people. Can you guess which ones?


End file.
